


That One Time They All Went To Hogwarts

by Redlance



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-04-27 12:48:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5049196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redlance/pseuds/Redlance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Harry Potter AU that no one asked for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

* * *

Beca loves every dark and dingy corner of the castle. The cold stonework that's forever blanketed in a thin film of dust and shadows so dark you can literally disappear into them. She loves the musty smell of the books, the one that saturates the furthest most corners of the library and clings to hallway walls that are far removed from any old texts. She doesn't actually read all that much though, enjoys the smell more than the words on the pages, but sometimes it reminds Beca of her father. Those days, she'll pack up her stuff and leave the library early.

 

Her father is a professor at a muggle university. He's the kind of parent that had her enrolled there before she was born, so when her Hogwart's letter came through, he was less than pleased to realise she'd inherited her mother's magical abilities. The years haven't exactly been on the best of terms since then, but that's not something Beca likes to dwell on.

 

Especially not when she's shuffling through the dungeons towards Potions class, half asleep because she'd been awake all night trying to get a muggle music player to work. The loss of her forty winks had been deemed worth it though, when the needle touched down against vinyl and sound **finally** crackled out through the speakers.

 

“Up late playing with your toys again, Mitchell?” She glances sidelong at Draco Malfoy, who's wearing his ever present shit-eating-grin and being flanked by his two bumbling bodyguards. “Shame your family's too poor to afford things that work.” He spits, but Beca just stares at him, eventually rolling her eyes as they reach the door to Professor Snape's classroom.

 

“Shame your family's genes had to make your face look like that, but then I guess we're all dealt different cards.” The smirk falls from his face and she picks it up, twisting and moulding it until it's her own and plastering it across her face. She gestures to the doorway. “Ladies first.”

 

“You filthy-” Someone shoves another bulky Slytherin in to Crabbe's back, who in turn stumbles int Draco and pushes him into the classroom. Beca stifles a laugh and stands back as Crabbe turns to take a swing at the offending pupil.

 

“ **Not** now, Crabbe.” Snape's voice is like ice. Solid and sharp, cold as death, and it freezes the brute in place, fist still raised. “Inside. Sit.” His every word is crisp and clear and Crabbe obeys like a scared little lapdog. Beca isn't really an advocate for ruling by fear, but she kind of can't help but admire Snape's ability in the area. He is, truly, a frightening man. Also a little greasy. She lets the Munsters file in ahead of her and makes a beeline for her desk the second she's over the threshold.

 

As a general rule, Beca Mitchell does not enjoy people. In any capacity. They're highly susceptible to creating complications and being assholes, so she's tried her hardest to steer clear.

 

“You know, if you just let the snitch hit you in the face a few times, you wouldn't have to waste valuable minutes of your day layering on the eyeliner for like, weeks.” Jesse, the boy currently sitting to her right and grinning like basilisk on happy pills, isn't all that bad. He's super annoying – she'd once slapped him with a Full Body-Bind curse, which had landed her in detention for two weeks when she couldn't undo it – but he's a good guy, for a Gryffindor, and he sort of kind of makes her laugh. Not that she'll every admit that to his face.

 

“Yeah,” she says, eyes big and round with excitement, “and if I let my fist hit you in the face a few times, that'll save me having to ignore you for the rest of this class.” She opens her mouth in a wide smile, like she's just said something worthy of immense celebration. “Yay!” Jesse rolls his eyes and sits back in his chair, flipping his text book open with a flick of his wrist.

 

“Hey, Hermione?” A pretty girl with dusty blonde hair turns from her place at the front of the class, casting a curious glance over her shoulder at Jesse, whose grin only widens. “Is there a spell or charm or something to counteract sarcasm?” Hermione's eyes narrow and she presses her lips together as they start to curl at the corners, sliding her mouth to one side. Her eyes dart to Beca and Beca immediately looks down at the utterly uninteresting cover of the book on her desk.

 

“Yeah,” Beca mutters, “it's call my foot up your-”

 

“Today,” Snape's voice saves Jesse from the mental image Beca had been about the paint and pulls everyone's attention forwards, “you will be **attempting** to concoct a love potion.” She sees Jesse turn his head towards her in her periphery and snaps a hand up so fast that the first she points at him blurs for an instant.

 

“Not one. Word.” He mimes zipping his lips together, but she knows how well that holds. Without her consent, her eyes flick to a chair two rows over and one ahead of her, to where Chloe Beale sits behind her desk, her brilliant blue eyes the brightest thing in the dungeon.

 

She cringes against the thought and resists the urge to face-plant into her textbook.

 

For the record, it's fine. It's totally fine. It's been fine for the last five years. Chloe Beale is **that** person. That person that everyone loves, everyone likes, everyone gets along with. Even **Snape** likes her, and Snape doesn't like anyone. Especially anyone from Gryffindor. It like, defies all logic, and it would baffle Beca if she weren't one of **those** people. Whose breath literally catches whenever Chloe Beale accidentally looks at her and whose eyes stray unwillingly to hair the same colour as red currant rum even after she's told herself a hundred times to stop.

 

It's also not as creepy as it sounds. For the record.

 

It's just a thing that's been there for a while and Beca's fine with it. It's a totally manageable thing that she deals with just fine. Unless you ask Jesse, in which case you'd be told that Beca doesn't 'deal' with it so much as she 'constantly trips over it and falls on her face'. And then she'd slam him with a stupify spell and probably be thrown in detention. Again.

 

The thing is, the fact that it's Chloe Beale makes it so much worse. She's so nice and cheery and **pretty** , which is basically the antithesis of everything Slytherin stands for, and Beca doesn't actually care about that, but Chloe is also the exact opposite of Beca herself. She's everything Beca is supposed to sneer at and she tries to remind herself of that, she really does.

 

“You may begin.” She blinks at Snape's words and looks around to find her classmates all sitting with their books open and cauldrons out, and Jesse is smirking at her.

 

“Just...” she bites her teeth together and pulls her lips back in an annoyed smile, “shut up and tell me what page to turn to.” Mercifully, for once, Jesse does as he's told, and the dungeon lapses into silence as each student attempts to concentrate on the task at hand. Every so often Snape will bark something from the front of the class, a comment or a question, awarding points to Slytherin whenever the opportunity arises and begrudgingly handing a few over to Gryffindor because Herimone Granger is never, ever wrong. At least, Beca's never seen her give an incorrect answer and they have a decent amount of classes together.

 

Chloe's hardly ever wrong either, Beca thinks, glancing over to where the redhead is dropping something into her cauldron. A ploom of smoke erupts from the top of it and she jerks her head back with a wide smile and a laugh, then clamps her hand over her mouth when Snape pointedly clears his throat. Even when she **is** wrong, she doesn't let it bother her, but a light blush does usually colour her cheeks and Beca would bet every sickle in her Quidditch cup money box that that is at least part of the reason no one ever jeers when she gets an answer wrong like they do with basically everyone else.

 

She's just really pretty, okay? Like, an unfair kind of pretty. The kind of pretty a person like Beca can't help but be distracted by. Because Beca is all hard edges and gloom, and Chloe is basically the sun. Glinting off a golden snitch, catching her attention and momentarily blinding her.

 

Unfortunately for Beca, her latest moment of daydream-y reflection lasts long enough for Professor Snape to make his way around the room and she doesn't realise he's no longer at the front of the class until a potions textbook is being smacked across the back of her head.

 

“Ow! Dude! What-” Hand pressed to the curve of her skull, she twists around to yell at Jesse, only to blanch when she sees Snape regarding her, looking incredibly unimpressed.

 

"Miss Mitchell,” he address her coolly and loud enough for the rest of the class to hear, “if you feel you are unable to tear you attention away from Miss Beale long enough to formulate an answer to the question I've asked you no less than three time now,” Beca feels his words sink their cold fingers into her heart, nails tearing into the fleshy organ as they pull it down through her stomach, and her eyes dart about like those of an anxious Cornish Pixie. “I suggest your efforts may be better spent mastering the preparation of a wit-sharpening potion,” Jesse is smothering a laugh behind both of his hands, Malfoy looks like Death Eater Christmas came early, her face, she's pretty sure, is on **fire** , “rather than the love potion which you appear to have little need for." And Chloe freaking Beale is **looking** at her.

 

Beca freezes, like a hippogriff caught in the headlight of the Hogwarts' Express, her stupid dumb face probably slack with shock and mortification, staring dead ahead at the girl who had no doubt turned around when she'd heard her name mentioned. And _oh, god, she's smiling at me._ Beca feels hot and lightheaded and she's pretty sure she's going to be sick, but Chloe is still looking at her. Blue eyes as bright as ever, a curious curl to her lips, totally ignoring the blonde sitting next to her who's tugging at the sleeve of her robe and trying to get her to turn around.

 

Snape finally returns to the front of the class and Jesse leans across the space separating their desks.

 

“Do you want some of Madame Pomfrey's paste for that burn?” Beca snaps her head around to glare at him and the smirk on his face is something she so desperately want to wipe off. She doesn't really think about it, the angry part of her brain rarely thinks about anything, and she's got her wand in her hand before she can blink.

 

“If you even so much as **think** of a spell, I will have you expelled faster than you can flick your wrist, Miss Mitchell.” Jesse's eyebrows hike to his hairline, but his smirk never falters, and it takes every ounce of strength in Beca's body to **not** knock him of his chair. She does manage to press her wand down against her desk though, it just takes a few moments. “Perhaps it's time you pay the headmaster a visit.” Beca heaves a sigh and stares down at her cauldron. “ **Now**.” She throws the chair back and slams her book closed, slipping it into her bag before sliding the strap onto her shoulder. She stalks to the front of the class, stopping in front of Snape who glances at her with one single raised eyebrow.

 

“Hall pass?” She keeps her tone flat, dead, and he opens his mouth to speak, his words crisp and clipped.

 

“Walk. Quickly.” She rolls her eyes and storms out of the classroom, not daring to risk a backward glance in case Chloe is still looking at her. Because this is really just perfect, of **course** this is how she is brought to Chloe's attention. Of **course** this is how she bursts onto the redhead radar.

 

“This is just... great.” She mutters to herself, shaking her head and she enters Professor Dumbledore's office and drops herself into the seat on the opposite side of the desk from him.

 

"Miss Mitchell!” He's another one that's always happy. Or he seems it, as he smiles at her and steeples his fingers together. “To what do I owe the pleasure?" Beca tugs her fingers through her hair and grumbles her reasoning. Somehow, he both hears and understands her, and his smile widens. "Ah, the thrill and distraction of young love.” She's pretty sure she's going to die. “Wondrous thing.” After a minute, a solid 'thunk' sounds against the desk in front of her and she looks up, away from her hands, to find a bag of yellow coloured candy sitting there. She looks up at Dumbledore, takes in the winkles at the corns of his eyes and the smile lines not hidden by his beard. “Sherbert lemon?" Hesitantly, Beca reaches out and plucks a sweet from the bag. “Did I ever tell you about the time, I couldn't have been any older than you, that I became so enamoured with a fellow student, I walked right into the lake? In full view of everyone who happened to be there at the time?” Tucking the sweet into her cheek, Beca can't help but smile.

 

Dumbledore definitely has a way of putting things into perspective.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a direct continuation of the last one. We jump ahead a bit here.

* * *

“Chloe, you hate Quidditch.” Aubrey Posen has been Chloe's best friend ever since they ended up sharing the same train car during their inaugural journey to Hogwarts. Best friends, right from that first 'Hello', because Chloe had just **known**. She has sort of a sixth sense about these things.

 

“I've never said I hated it.” She points out, fiddling with the ends of her hair in an attempt to get them to lie properly against her robes.

 

“You've never said you **liked** it.” Aubrey shoots back, stalking over from her side of the bedroom and batting Chloe's hand away. “The second you step outside the wind is going to mess it up and it'll still look amazing, so for the love of God, please stop.” There's a hint of genuine ire to her voice and Chloe pouts at it, turning to take the blonde's hands in her own.

 

“Bree,” she whines, “why are you so grumpy?” Aubrey's mouth falls open with a scoff of disbelief.

 

“I don't know, Chloe.” She barks, but doesn't pull her hands away. Chloe tries not to smile. “Could it possibly be because I'm being dragged to a Quidditch match against my will by someone who doesn't even enjoy the sport, when I'd much rather-”

 

“Be making out with Jesse?” Chloe interrupts, mischief sparkling in her bright blue eyes. “Or Stacie?” She frowns, feigning intrigue. “Did you decide who you're going to ask to the Yule Ball yet?” Aubrey's face turns beet red and she snaps her mouth closed with an audible click. Chloe squeezes her hands with a triumphant grin and, knowing she's won this round, lets go. She walks over to her bedside table and opens the drawer to pull something out.

 

“Absolutely not.” Aubrey gasps, outraged, when Chloe turns back to her. She throws out a hand, pointing a furiously accusatory finger in the redhead's direction. “Chloe, this is **unacceptable** and I must- oh my God, it **glitters**?!” Chloe can't help but laugh at the way the pitch of Aubrey's voice devolves into a squeak at the end and she lays the scarf on the end of her bed to admire her handiwork.

 

It's a typical Slytherin scarf, all dark green and twin lines of silver, but there is one thing that is going to make it stand out even more than the fact that it's a **Slytherin** scarf; the bold, shimmering letters that appear when Chloe lifts it up. The ones that spell out 'MITCHELL'.

 

“Isn't it awesome! Hermione helped me find the spell for it.” Chloe beams, watching the name come to life as she flicks the end of the scarf to make it roll in a haphazard kind of wave across the bed.

 

“It...” Aubrey is shaking her head in a way that Chloe knows usually precedes a meltdown of some sort. “You can't wear that! I forbid it!” Chloe raises her eyebrows, grin still teasing her lips.

 

“You **forbid** it?” She scrunches up her face and Aubrey has enough grace to at least appear sheepish. To be fair to her best friend, Aubrey is a fiercely loyal Gryffindor, it's actually been quite problematic in the past, and Chloe knew this wasn't going to go over well. She'd just hoped that her obvious enthusiasm and excitement would win the blonde over.

 

“If you walk into the stands wearing that, you're going to be hexed. And I’m going to be standing next to you!” Chloe laughs, carefree and easy, and ignores the way Aubrey bristles at her easy brush off.

 

“No one is going to hex us, Bree. It's just a dumb scarf, who cares?”

 

“You've **really** never been to a Quidditch match before, have you?” Chloe shrugs at the question.

 

“My dad took me and my brother when we were little. But not since then, no.” Aubrey sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. After a few deep breaths, she releases the hold with a flourish of her fingers.

 

“You are going to owe me big time.” Chloe squeals and throws her arms around her best friend. Aubrey accepts the exuberant hug with an audible 'oof' and another, slightly less exasperated sigh. “She better be worth it, Chloe.” Chloe only hugs her tighter.

 

* * *

 

Beca had only tried out for the Quidditch team because Jesse had badgered her obsessively until she'd finally given in and agreed to go. She was never supposed to actually make the team.

 

But then, things rarely go as planned for Beca Mitchell.  


This is supposed to just be another match. Granted, any meeting of the houses of Sytherin and Gryffindor are never **just** anything, but in the grand scheme of things this match isn't special. It's not supposed to be. But when Beca turns her broom around, pointing it towards the Gryffindor stand to find Jesse and give him her customary pre-game middle finger wave, suddenly all that changes.

 

It's the glittering that first catches her eye, easily visible but by no means blinding – because the person holding it would have taken something like that into consideration, Beca can just feel it – and the green and silver stand out with painful clarity amid the sea of scarlet and gold. The red hair is next and that's just about when she nearly falls off her broom from shock.

 

Because she'd know that shade anywhere.

 

Chloe Beale is sitting in the Gryffindor stands, waving a **Slytherin** scarf with **Beca's** name on it above her head, like it's something she does at every game. It is not. She's probably being glared at by everyone else around her and Beca can see the redhead's smile from halfway across the field; Chloe doesn't care.

 

Heart thumping loudly in her ears and hands feeling a little numb where they're gripping her broom handle, Beca's flying towards the stand before she's conscious that she's moving at all. Chloe's eyes are already on her when Beca gets close enough to catch them and her approach makes the redhead wave the scarf even more exuberantly. The blonde at her side grabs at the arm closest to her, trying to drag it down to Chloe's side, but she won't be deterred. Beca pulls up at the front of the spectator house and Chloe jumps down from the bench she's on, skipping over the two in front of her with the scarf around her neck and catching herself with her hands at the barrier. Her fingers curve around the ledge, one on either side of Beca's hand where she's resting it to steady herself and close enough for Chloe's thumbs to brush against her skin.

 

“Hey!” The greeting leaves Chloe's lips as a breathless giggle and the grin lighting her face is more than enough to make Beca mirror it. Or attempt to, because no one else can smile quite like Chloe. In a way that spreads warmth through Beca's chest and makes her feel a little dizzy. She tightens her grip.

 

“What are you doing here?” She manages to ask after what feels like an embarrassingly long time spent staring at Chloe with her mouth open. Her eyes flick to the scarf. “And in **that**?” Then back to Chloe's face. “Do you have a death wish?” Chloe rolls her eyes in a manner that absolutely delights Beca.

 

“You and Aubrey aren't so different, you know.” But the delight is short-lived, then she's back to gaping at Chloe, sputtering her offence.

 

“You take that back!” But Chloe only laughs and some part of Beca hates how much she loves the sound of it. Because it means she's in deep, and while she can admit to herself that she's sort of had a thing for Chloe for, well, forever, this whole burgeoning friendship thing happening between them is definitely turning that 'thing' into something more specific. Chloe covers Beca's hand with both of hers, eyes the same colour as the cloudless sky overhead staring unabashedly into ones that match midnight.

 

“You know, she's not so bad once you get to know her.” Chloe squeezes her hand, making no effort to move them away, and Beca tries valiantly to tamp down on the Cornish pixies that have just decided to take up residence in her chest. She tries to mask her nervousness with an eyebrow raise.

 

“I'll just take your word on that one.” Chloe tuts her disapproval and Beca's attempt at bravado sways violently when she considers her next words, swallowing convulsively and resisting the urge to pull out of Chloe's grasp. “Are you... um, I haven't seen you here before.” And immediately wants to fly into the ground because wow, that sounds like a line. Chloe doesn't seem to notice though.

 

“Well, that's because this is my very first time attending a Hogwarts' match.” She picks up Beca's hand then, glancing down as she idly plays with her fingers and Beca's grip on her broom handle turns deathly.

 

“Did-” her voice cracks and she feels heat scorch a path to her cheeks, lighting them up like Christmas, and of course Chloe's attention is brought back up by that, of course it is, “uh, why are, why now?” Chloe offers her a small shrug and wrinkles her nose as she shakes her head, and Beca thinks her hand might be sweating.

 

“Because now I have a **reason** to come.” Her tone suggests that this should have been obvious to Beca. It might in fact be the least obvious thing Beca has ever encountered. Maybe she fell off her broom and she's actually unconscious right now. “After all, what kind of friend would I be if I didn't show up to support the best Chaser in the school?” She winks at Beca then, and the brunette doesn't know which makes her more embarrassingly giddy, that or the fact that Chloe just called herself her friend.

 

“Um....” Beca trails off, blinking stupidly at Chloe's smiling face and trying not to think about how **knowing** that smile seems. Somewhere behind her a whistle blows, an attention-grabbing sound that signals an imminent start to the match and serving as a call to all players to take their positions. Beca turns to watch her teammates fly towards the sound and feels an unexpected tug on her arm. When she twists her head back around, there's an instant where her eyes widen as Chloe's face swims out of focus, and then the press of lips against her cheek pulls an honest to god squeak from her. One which Chloe obviously hears because when she pulls back, it's with a laugh. But it's pretty and pleasant, rather than mocking, and if Beca's cheeks weren't burning before, they sure are now.

 

“For luck.” Chloe explains easily and, with a wink, lets Beca's hand go with one final squeeze. “You might want to close your mouth though. All the luck in the world won't help you if the snitch flies in there.” Beca immediately snaps her jaw shut, teeth clicking almost painfully, and then Chloe's waving her away with a smile that Beca's going to feel for days.

 

She has to tell herself to turn three times before her arms pay any kind of attention, tilting the broom down and to the side, and once she's a good few feet away she turns back to find Chloe once more sitting in her spot. Waving a small Slytherin pennant in front of her.

 

And if Beca makes a few mistakes, if she fumbles the Quaffle a bit more than usual and still finishes the match with a dumb smile on her face, no one could really blame her.

 


End file.
